


Seduction for Dummies

by Aviss



Category: Good Omens - Gaiman & Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something different about Aziraphale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seduction for Dummies

**Seduction for Dummies**   
****

**  
1\. Make him notice you**

_Be it a new acquaintance or an old friend, to seduce him he must first take notice of you. Make a change, something subtle that keeps him guessing. The results are guaranteed. _

  
There was something different about Aziraphale.

"--and then Anathema was asking again about that book, she wanted to know if there was something we could do about it since it was our fault it was destroyed," he was saying, the glass of wine in his hand sloshing dangerously from one side to the other. Crowley stared at the perfectly manicured hands. They were the same, weren't they?

They were, so that wasn't it, and he had been staring fixedly at his lips for long enough to be sure the change wasn't there either. Crowley downed his own glass -which refilled even as he was putting it back on the table - and frowned. He couldn't put his finger on it but something about Aziraphale had changed since The Incident.

The Incident being the Almost Apocalypse, but Crowley didn't like to talk about it.

"Of course I told her that the book had been burnt and was impossible to recover," Aziraphale continued, not troubled in the least by Crowley’s intent stare, "she wasn't happy at all, but there is nothing we can do. Are you all right, my dear?" he asked when he saw Crowley finishing his second glass in as many minutes.

"Have you been discorporated lately, angel?"

"What? No--Are you drunk, Crowley?" he asked, regarding Crowley now with the same intensity he had been studied with. "Do you need to sober up?"

Crowley shook his head. He didn't feel drunk, or at least he didn't feel so drunk he had to do that, it was just--he didn't know what it was, but it was making him feel uncomfortable.

"No, let's go back and continue this at your place," he suggested instead, signalling for the waitress.

Aziraphale looked puzzled but he nodded and drank the rest of his wine. Crowley observed him on the way back to the Bentley. He concluded that the angel had not gotten a new body - or if he had it was so similar to the old one to make no difference -. It was the same middle-aged slightly pudgy body he was familiar with, but still something was not right.

Crowley frowned when Aziraphale walked under a streetlamp, his blonde hair reflecting the amber light. Had it always been so soft looking? He wanted to ask, worse-- he wanted to test, if it was as silky as it appeared to be. Crowley stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket clenching his fist and willing them to stay there. He felt completely sober when they reached the Bentley.

The ride back was oddly quiet.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked for the fifth time since Crowley had changed his mind and told Aziraphale he was going back home, "It's still early."

"No, I really feel like sleeping tonight," Crowley said, his mind going over the same points it had been all evening. It wasn't the eyes, they had been that exact colour from the first time he had seen them six thousand years ago. It was the only thing that never changed, no matter what; it was stupid to suppose they would now. "And you're sure you haven't been discorporated?"

Aziraphale's brows furrowed in concern, "Of course not, are you quite all right?"

"Yes, yes, forget it," he said feeling foolish for asking once again. "I'll come round another time and we'll have that wine then."

"If you're sure," Aziraphale said taking his keys from of the pocket of his jeans. He opened the door and entered the bookshop, leaving Crowley still staring at the empty space where he had been as the door was shut.

Crowley snapped out of it a minute later, getting inside the Bentley and driving away.

It wasn't until he was almost home that he realised, and when he did realise, he stopped the car suddenly, making the one behind him swerve to avoid him and nearly crash against a cab.

"Bloody he--hea--something!" he said aloud, his mind replaying the last scene at the bookshop.

He had to admit, though the idea of Aziraphale wearing them was just wrong, those jeans had made the angel's arse look very nice.

  
**2\. Make him feel special.**

_Most men are like children; they want to feel they are your world. Laugh at his jokes, pay attention to him, make him feel smart. He will love you for it.  
_  
"This is what I call a nice surprise," Crowley said, sipping the excellent wine Aziraphale had brought.

He had not seen the angel for a week - since that last dinner at the Ritz - and he was grateful to notice Aziraphale was wearing his customary, if unfashionable clothes. He had not been expecting him until he opened the door to his flat, but wasn't intending to complain. Especially not when he had the chance to try again such a good vintage.

"Well dear, you were behaving strangely last week, so I was a bit worried," Aziraphale said, "and you never did come back for that drink."

"Well, I have been very busy this week," he said averting his eyes. He had not been avoiding the angel. He had not. It was just that some projects took preference: there was so much do in the world, so much evil to spread. Souls were not going to corrupt themselves--well, they were doing a good job at it anyway, but Crowley had to at least keep the pretence that it was him. "Where did you get your hands on a 1916 Chateau Rieussec, anyway? They are supposed to be very rare," he said, changing the subject.

"They are," he smiled knowingly and drank some from his glass, "but you remember that place in Cornwall?"

"The Brewery?"

"Yes, that one. Some of the bottles are still there, they just don't know it yet," Aziraphale said, prompting a laugh from Crowley.

"That is theft, angel," he said, enjoying the wine even more.

Aziraphale looked affronted, "It is not. They are wasting perfectly fine wine; it would be a sin for it to be unappreciated."

Crowley just laughed harder, "I agree, but it’s still theft." He raised his glass in a toast, "Your secret is safe with me, angel. Your shady side is the reason I like you."

Was that a blush on Aziraphale's face? Crowley looked at him carefully. No, it must have been a trick of the light, or maybe the wine.

"So, you've been busy lately, any assignment from below?" the angel asked in interest.

"No, they are still ignoring me," he said, and he was very grateful for that. After all the mess with the Antichrist he seemed to have fallen out of favour and it had improved his life greatly. "I have a project in my hands, something I want to try."

He didn't intend to share everything with him, Aziraphale was the enemy after all, and would feel obligated to thwart if Crowley explained his plans. But there was something in the way the angel was looking at him, holding on to every word that came from his mouth, that made Crowley want to carry on talking for hours.

So he did.

He wasn’t really surprised when the public transport strike was cancelled the day before it started, but somehow he couldn't blame Aziraphale for it. It had been worth it just for the wine. And the company.

**3\. Jealousy is your friend.**

_Let him see you with someone new, introduce him to good-looking friends, flirt with other men in his presence. A man driven by jealousy is usually a great lover.  
_  
It felt strange being back in Lower Tadfield after everything that had happened there. The feeling of the place was the same as before, that thing Aziraphale had called love and that, for some reason, made Crowley feel uneasy. Knowing that it was Adam who loved the place so much that people-well, not normal people--could sense it, did nothing to put Crowley's mind to rest.

"Oh, you came!" Anathema greeted at the door of her cottage, with Newt standing a few steps behind her.

"Of course my dear, we wouldn't miss it for the world. It's your birthday, after all," Aziraphale smiled gently at her and she lit up in pleasure. Crowley scowled and followed them inside the house.

Everyone else was already inside, waiting for the party to begin. It would be an understatement to say that spending the afternoon with the teenaged Antichrist and his friends was not Crowley’s idea of fun, but he had been invited and couldn't find an excuse for Aziraphale quickly enough.

"Did you bring my book back, then?" Anathema asked, though the answer was the same as the hundred of times she had asked the same question before.

"You know that--"

"I know, I know," she interrupted the angel, "it was worth the try." They smiled at each other; Anathema really had been upset at first, but now it seemed she asked out of habit.

Crowley grabbed a glass of juice, which turned into something stronger in his hand, and picked a corner as far away from the kids as possible to sit and will the afternoon away.

After a while Crowley was bored out of his mind; the angel had looked around and seen Crowley sitting alone, only to go back to his conversation with Anathema with an apologetic smile. That had happened almost an hour ago, Crowley didn't know what they had to tell each other that was so interesting, but Aziraphale was looking at her with an intensity generally reserved for very rare books and Crowley.

He didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit. In any other circumstance he would have gotten up to some mischief that would force the angel to at least pay attention to him, if not to keep him entertained for the rest of the afternoon. Here, under Adam's nose, he could do nothing but stare and scowl and drink.

"If you don’t say, he won’t know."

Crowley’s melancholy was interrupted with a shock to find the ageless eyes of Adam Young staring at him from a couple of feet away. He blessed under his breath, having been so distracted that he had forgotten to look out for the young man.

"Are you and your friends enjoying the party?" he asked, looking around warily to see if the rest of the Them were close by.

"If it bothers you, you should tell him," Adam continued as if Crowley hadn't spoken.

"What are you talking about?"

"You look like Dog when I don't play with him," he said and Crowley repressed a shudder. To be compared with the hellhound might not be so bad if on different terms, but as a dog begging his master's attention was pathetic. He was about to protest when Adam opened his mouth again, "You want Aziraphale to speak to you instead of her, so go and tell him."

It was all he could do to stay sitting on the same spot, his body straining to rise and follow the advice as if it was an order. And then, the compulsion was gone.

"Suit yourself," Adam said with a shrug. He returned to his friends and they started another one of their games.

Crowley was so relieved to be alone again he stayed for another hour before making an excuse to drag the angel back to the Bentley and leave.

  
**4\. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.**

_Make him miss you. Be late for your date, don't be where he can usually find you, that way he will be thinking about you.  
_  
Crowley looked at his watch for the third time, the open bottle of Chardonnay remaining untouched on the table. Five minutes had passed since the last time he looked and still no sign of Aziraphale. It was more than a little strange, it was the first time the angel had been late since--Crowley couldn't even remember when.

He waited for another ten minutes before finally grabbing his jacket and leaving the Ritz.

Maybe something had happened, unlikely since there had been no communication from above or below for either of them since The Incident, but it was the only explanation Crowley could come up with.

He drove to the bookshop and entered, ignoring the sign that claimed it was closed. The shop was rarely open and that didn't always mean there was no angel inside.

Except this time it meant exactly that.

He took a look around the dark and dusty shop; it really was a fire hazard, as he knew from bitter experience, and he wondered why Adam hadn't fixed that when he redid everything. There was an open book on the table and an empty mug, but no sign of the angel anywhere.

Crowley was getting increasingly concerned. Surely if there was another big plan in motion he would know? Unless Aziraphale had simply forgotten about their dinner and was somewhere else. But where?

As if in answer to his question, an image of Anathema and Aziraphale at the party came to his mind. He dismissed it quickly, but it came back after a minute and decided to camp there, challenging Crowley to ignore it again.

Crowley for his part decided to camp at Aziraphale’s, waiting for the angel to reappear.

It wasn’t for half an hour that the door opened, to reveal a flustered but happy Aziraphale, book held reverently in his free hand. Crowley on the other hand was less than happy; he was lonely, hungry and, after thirty minutes of fighting, that treacherous image had not only refused to leave but had also invited friends and they were an unpleasant crowd.

The angel was smiling contently as his eyes fell on Crowley.

"Crowley, what are you doing--oh no, was it today?" he asked advancing to the desk and placing the book carefully on top.

He didn't need an answer, Crowley’s scowl was enough of a confirmation, but he got a response anyway, "Yes, angel, it was."

Aziraphale looked apologetic for a moment and then his eyes slid to the book, his expression turning into one of pleasure again, "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot," he said.

"That, angel, was obvious," Crowley felt his annoyance growing by the minute. Aziraphale had forgotten about him and he didn't even have the grace to look contrite.

"Well, someone told me about this old book sale today …" Aziraphale started to explain.

"Save it, if we leave now we can still have diner," he said standing up. He was irritated, but knew that if the competition came down to a book against everything else, the winner would always be the same. Not that he wasn’t planning to make his displeasure at being forgotten clear over the remainder of the evening.  
"Um," Aziraphale hesitated, shooting another look at the book.

It was so clear he wanted to stay that Crowley rolled his eyes, "Right, we'll leave it for another day so you can stay with your precious book," he turned to leave resentfully. "But you owe me."

On the way to the car he mused over the strange look that had passed across the angel's face. He couldn't be disappointed, could he?

  
**5\. When everything else fails, jump him. **

_If he has failed to notice you and sweep you off your feet, you can either forget about him or take the necessary steps yourself. Some men are hopeless; if you think he's the one but he still treats you as a friend, jump him. _

Crowley drove the Bentley through the crowded streets of Soho, pulling right up to the door of the bookshop. He left immediately, not caring if people were forbidden to park there. He wasn’t ‘people’.

"Aziraphale?" he called, entering the shop and going straight to the back. The phone call he’d received had been strange, the angel sounded worried about something, so Crowley had got into the car straight away to find out what was wrong.

He wasn't expecting to see him sitting calmly on the couch with a glass of wine and an open book on his knees.

"Oh, Crowley, you came?" he asked redundantly as he put the book down with a smile. Another glass of wine appeared on the table beside him.

Crowley blinked in confusion.

"I thought you would take longer, so I started without you."

He stayed where he was, looking at the angel with a frown. What was happening? When he had called, Aziraphale had sounded worried and nervous and had said he had something important discuss. And now, now there he was,reading and enjoying a drink.

"You said--"

"Yes, but you didn't need run here, dear, sit down and we'll talk." He smiled and signalled again at the couch, a note of impatience entering his voice.

He sat down looking curiously at Aziraphale, "So, what was the emergency?"

"Ah," Aziraphale said, leaning forward “this,” and he pressed his lips gently to Crowley's.

Crowley recoiled and almost bolted from the couch, staring at the angel with something close to horror. "What?" he demanded.

"Sit down, Crowley," he said with the same infuriating calm, as if he hadn't just--he didn't want to think about that just yet.

Crowley just stared at him and Aziraphale sighed. "Crowley, dear, just sit down and we'll talk."

Warily, Crowley sat down again. "What?"

Aziraphale took a long sip of his drink and Crowley realised he wasn't actually as composed as he pretended to be. For some reason knowing this made him feel better.

"Crowley, my dear, don't you think is about time for a change?"

"A change?" Crowley repeated stupidly.

"Yes, a new stage for us," he looked so earnest, but Crowley couldn't understand what he meant. Well, he could, it was just that he hadn't thought about it. Not in those terms.

"Why?" Crowley was out of his depth and that scared him. He hated feeling scared.

"Because it feels right," Aziraphale said simply.

Crowley closed his eyes, suddenly wanting to sleep and give himself a couple of decades to think it over. But he knew Aziraphale wasn't lying, it did feel right. The last few weeks had felt confusing and strange; he had known that something was changing, but had been too anxious of the result to analyse it.

"It's strange," he offered finally, opening his eyes once more.

"No, it's not, dear Crowley," it sounded as if the word now had a different meaning to it and it almost made Crowley smile in spite of his distress. "It's natural."

"We are enemies," Crowley’s protests were weak and he knew it.

"We haven't been enemies for centuries."

"It's scary," Crowley finally admitted. Aziraphale smiled and, before Crowley had the chance to react, grabbed his hand.

"I know."

"Can we … take this slowly then, angel?" he asked, chagrined by how much he sounded like a blushing maiden. Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him again. This time Crowley kissed back, opening to the kiss.

"There is no need to hurry now," Aziraphale said as they pulled apart, leaning back on the couch with a contented smile. He had waited for decades; there was no harm in waiting a little longer.

They stayed like that for a while: not talking or drinking, simply holding hands in the quiet shop. Crowley knew it would take them some time to get used to the new turn in their relationship, but he was not worried.

Time was the one thing they had to spare.

…


End file.
